


this love won't ever grow old

by MoonCacti



Category: The Prom - Sklar/Beguelin/Martin
Genre: Betsy's POV of a few moments of Emma's life, F/F, That's it, basically Betsy is awesome and loves emma a whole lot, just to be clear nothing bad happens to betsy here folks !!, mentions of Emma's grandfather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 05:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20869235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonCacti/pseuds/MoonCacti
Summary: There are some moments in Betsy's life that she doesn't think she could ever forget. In fact, she could tell you in perfect detail exactly what he was wearing when she stumbled upon one Sean Nolan when she was nineteen years old. It had been so easy then, to fall in love with him because no one else ever was capable of making her smile like he did.





	this love won't ever grow old

**Author's Note:**

> Hospitals always put me in a weird mood and then this happened and I just lost control of it. 
> 
> CW to homophobia from Emma's parents

There are some moments in Betsy's life that she doesn't think she could ever forget. In fact, she could tell you in perfect detail exactly what he was wearing when she stumbled upon one Sean Nolan when she was nineteen years old. It had been so easy then, to fall in love with him because no one else ever was capable of making her smile like he did.

The day he proposed had been overcast, rain threatening to fall any moment, but Sean’s smile had been like the sun when he knocked on Betsy’s parents’ door to ask for her hand. He was wearing his father’s suit, two sizes too big, his curly blond hair combed to one side and Betsy though he was the most handsome man in the world as he handed her the small bouquet of purple flowers that she knew he had taken from his neighbor’s garden.

All those years they had together with all the struggles and troubles that they always managed to overcome together, he had never once failed to make her the happiest woman in the world.

Betsy remembers the day she knew for sure that she was pregnant. Sean's whole face lit up when she told him and he had laughed with so much glee as he spun her around their kitchen while Betsy squealed. And then he had pulled her in an almost bone-crushing hug and whispered in her ear how happy he was.

Nine months later, Betsy remembers lying in a hospital bed watching Sean holding tiny little Michael in his arms, softly singing him a song under his breath with a look of sheer awe on his face.

Sean had been the best father in the world. See, a lot of people will say this about someone's dad, but in Sean's case, it was just the simple truth. There had been nothing in the world more important to Sean Nolan than his family and he had made sure to show them that every day.

So yeah, there’s a lot of things Betsy couldn't forget even if she tried to. Her own wedding; her son's first steps and his first words and the day he got married and Betsy had been so happy but also, just a little bit sad.

There was that autumn morning when Michael had come over, so early that Betsy and Sean had still been in bed – and they were the early-risers, mind you – just to tell them that Jennifer was pregnant.

Betsy's eyes became watery as she hugged her son but Sean had laughed with such joy then, he was so happy that it was spilling over.

Betsy remembers the day Emma came into this world too. She remembers sitting down in an uncomfortable plastic chair inside another hospital room while Jennifer took a nap and Michael laced their fingers together and Sean held their granddaughter for the first time.

He walked from one corner of the small room to another with Emma on his arms as he looked at her with so much wonder, like she held the answers to all things in the universe in her tiny hands. Betsy remembers it when Sean passed Emma into her arms, his eyes glinting as Betsy teared up a bit so the first memory she had of Emma on her arms was a bit blurry.

Michael gazed up at his parents then, still holding onto his wife’s hand but keeping an eye on his daughter. “She’s so perfect,” he said softly, almost in a whisper. Betsy had smiled, agreeing silently.

He looked in awe when Betsy stopped next to him with Emma on her arms, pouting a little in her sleep. “I’ll do anything for her, mom.” He had promised in such earnest and with so much devotion, and how was Betsy supposed to know that she shouldn't have believed him?

* * *

It all happens one normal Wednesday a few weeks into the summer break before Emma’s junior year in High School, right after she turned sixteen.

Emma showing up unannounced on Betsy's house was a common occurrence; what was uncommon was she ringing the doorbell and waiting until Betsy opened the door for her. Her grandparents' place had always been Emma's second home, she could come and go as she'd like, no need for formalities like the doorbell.

Betsy takes one look at Emma and immediately knows something is wrong. Emma has this sort of lost and pained look in her eyes as she opens her mouth to say something and for a moment Betsy thinks she’ll tell her what’s going on, but she simply looks away without saying a thing and Betsy frowns. She wants to press but she also knows Emma and knows she won’t talk until she’s ready to.

Emma does nothing more than shake her head when Betsy asks if she wants some dinner, so Betsy conforms herself to helplessly watching her as Emma makes her way upstairs, head down and shoulder’s slumped.

Sean had liked to spoil Emma; it was no secret that she had had her grandfather wrapped around her little finger from the day she was born and Sean never even tried to deny that. Between herself and her husband, Betsy had been the toughest, the one to at least try and reinforce the rules because, if left by his own devices, Sean would shamelessly give in to Emma’s every whim and demand.

It had been easy then, to not think too much about the fact that Emma was spending more time at her grandparents’ place than with her parents.

Betsy had known, of course, about Emma’s constant fights with her parents. It seemed like the three of them could never agree on one single thing, but every time she tried to talk about it with Michael he had brushed it off with some variation of _Emma is a teenager now_, _that’s just how they are, picking fights with their parents and trying to act rebellious. _

Whenever Betsy tried to bring up the subject with Emma, she would always shrug it off too. And so, as much as Betsy knew that there was something Emma wasn’t talking about, there wasn’t much she could do about it until Emma felt ready to open up.

The look on Emma’s face had reminded Betsy of one Sunday morning a little before Emma’s fourteenth birthday.

She had come over after a particularly bad with her parents and without a word, Sean had climbed into his truck, ushered a sullen Emma into the passenger seat and the two of them had taken off to God knows where.

They didn’t tell Betsy where they went; all she knew was that Emma was smiling again when they got back just in time for dinner, the both of them exchanging secretive impish looks when Betsy asked about their day.

Betsy had walked over to Michael, intent on using the opportunity to have a talk with him. She patiently listened to him vent about how _difficult _Emma had become lately, _impossible to manage_, refusing to wear some of the clothes Jennifer would buy for her, and suddenly Betsy knew what this was all about. Emma had stopped wearing dresses a while ago, preferring jeans and flannels and Jennifer absolutely hated it.

The fight had blown out of proportions, Betsy didn’t think something so small warranted that kind of reaction from her son and his wife, but there they were. It took a while to convince them that it was okay, to just let Emma be. She watched as Jennifer’s lips pursed and Michael’s closed his fists by his sides, but she didn’t think much of it at the time.

After that Sunday, it had become another of Sean and Emma's little traditions, to pack some sandwiches or something else and drive away together after church. They would come back hours later, faces smeared with ice cream and identical mischievous grins.

Betsy never found out what they were up to on those Sundays afternoons. Not until after Sean- Not until almost a year ago when Emma confessed that he had been giving her driving lessons. Michael had been mad. Jennifer had been appalled. But Betsy had simply laughed.

Betsy sighs and shakes her head once when the phone on the living room starts ringing, pulling her out of her memories and back to the present. She is pretty sure she already knows who is calling.

“Hello?”

“Betsy, hi.” It’s Jennifer, Michael’s wife, she sounds weird in a way Betsy can’t exactly pinpoint but she holds all the questions she wants to ask for a moment. “Is Emma by any chance there with you?”

"She just got here, actually." Betsy shifts the phone to her other ear, frowning and turning in the direction of the stairs. "I can get her for you if you want. But I wanted to talk to you first, what's g-" She stops abruptly when she hears Jennifer sniffling but before she can ask about it there are a few muffled noises as the phone is passed from one person to another and suddenly Michael's voice is in her year. 

"Did you know?" He asks curtly, almost spitting out the question as if he was talking with any other person and not his mother. Betsy would take a moment to scold him if she weren't so damn worried about Emma now. "Did you know about it? I don't know where she's getting those ideas but I swear, if-"

Betsy interrupts him before he can finish whatever was it that he was about to say, her patience wearing thin. “What’s happening here, Michael?”

"Emma!" He explodes, sounding more and more hysterical. "Emma has gotten in her head that she's – that's she's one of those–! She sat us down and told us she’s a _lesbian!”_

There’s a deafening silence after he says the words, cut only by the sound of his harsh breaths on the other end of the line. Betsy closes her eyes, exhaling slowly. “Yes, and?”

Michael sputters. “Yes – _yes and?” _He repeats, disbelief and indignation dripping from his voice. “Did you hear what I just said? I don’t know where she got those ideas, but I’m not about to accept _that _under my roof. Do you hear me? What would dad say if he was–?”

And this is where Betsy draws the line.

"Don't you dare think for even a second that your father would accept_ your _behavior right now. Do you even hear the way you’re talking about your own _daughter?” _Betsy takes in a deep breath, counting to five in her head. “Now you listen to me, you are going to calm yourself down and tomorrow you’re going to talk to Emma, like her father, and –”

“We already tried to talk some sense into her, but she won’t listen to us!” He barks, cutting Betsy off. “She’s not stepping a foot inside my house as long as she keeps insisting on those ideas and that’s final.” Michael keeps breathing heavily on the phone when Betsy doesn’t immediately answer him. She can picture the way his face is scrunched up in anger; it makes her heart squeeze painfully.

Here Betsy would like to say that this completely caught her off guard but she knows, deep down, that it would be a lie. There were a lot of signs pointing in this direction actually. Except, Betsy never regarded them as such. If she concentrates on it, she could think of so many small things that on their own wouldn’t amount to anything, but when she added them all together…

“I never thought I would say this,” Betsy says slowly, her voice hollow. “But I’m glad your father isn’t here to see what you’re doing. It would’ve killed him.” She doesn’t wait for a reply, doesn’t bother to end the call either. Michael can yell as he wants, right now Betsy just needs to find Emma and make sure she’ll be okay.

/

Emma is in her room, where Betsy knew she would be. Technically, it was the guest bedroom; it used to be Michael’s before he got married and moved to his own place. It became unofficially Emma’s when she was around two or three years old and weekend sleepovers at her grandparents became a regular thing.

Emma is sitting down on the floor, her back resting stiffly against the bedframe and a faraway look on her eyes. She doesn’t acknowledge Betsy when she sits down beside her with a groan. No one says anything for a moment.

“I talked with your father o the phone,” Betsy says eventually, her words soft as if to not spook Emma. It doesn’t matter, she still can feel Emma stiffening next to her.

“Do you want me to leave?” Emma’s voice is barely a whisper, her arms hugging her knees to her chest and Betsy knows this is one of those moments she won’t be able to forget, too, because she has never seen Emma look this small and defeated and it’s breaking her heart.

“Honey,” Betsy says, her voice cracking though she’s doing her best to keep it together for Emma. “This is your home. I wouldn’t ever want you to leave.” Emma breathes out harshly, her shoulders slumping forward and Betsy carefully wraps an arm around her.

“Did he…” Emma trails off, her lips trembling, but Betsy doesn’t need her to finish the question.

“He did.” Betsy nods, taking a moment to ponder her next words. “I wish you had the chance to tell me though, so I could say how proud I’m of you.”

Emma finally looks up at that, something between hope and disbelief shining in her eyes. “You are?”

Betsy smiles at Emma then, pushing a few strands of hair behind Emma’s ear before pressing their foreheads together. “Of course, I am. Emma Nolan, you’re the most amazing, brilliant young woman in the whole wide world.” She holds Emma’s chin between her thumb and forefinger when Emma tries to look away. “If your parents can’t see it, it’s their own loss. It’s not your fault they’re dumb.”

Emma snorts a laugh, shifting a little to rest her head on Betsy's shoulder. Betsy presses a kiss to the side of her head. “I told Grandpa,” Emma says quietly after a moment and Betsy is honestly not even surprised.

Betsy's lips quirk up in a small smile. "I bet all he did was tell a bad joke, pull you in a bone-crushing hug and then take you out for ice cream. Am I right?”

“Burgers.”

“Huh?”

“We got burgers together. And milkshakes. We talked a lot that night, about everything…” She trails off, lost in memory. “I really miss him.”

“Me too.” Betsy blinks against the sudden sting of tears in her eyes. “You know, there was nothing that could get in the way of his love for you, right? Just like there’s nothing that could ever make me love you any less. Is that understood?”

“You don’t think that I’m sick or confused?”

“Did your father say those things?”

Emma’s silence is an answer in itself and Betsy represses a sigh, wondering where did she go wrong with her son. She knows that over the past few years Emma’s relationship with her parents hadn’t been the best one, but they never had been outright abusive, not that Betsy knew of, and God forbid she ever find out that Jennifer or Michael had ever laid hands on Emma.

But again, that wasn't the only way in which they could have hurt Emma; Jennifer insistence on making her wear dresses and skirts even when she knew it made her uncomfortable. The dressing down Michael gave Emma when she came home with a short haircut, his harsh words.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Emma.”

“But the Bible – ”

“The Bible says a lot of things,” Betsy says with finality. “None all of those things are always the absolute truth; sometimes we just have to think for ourselves.” Emma nods against her shoulder.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” Emma asks, changing the subject and pressing closer to Betsy.

“Whatever you want. How do you feel about the color of this room?”

“It’s okay, I guess?”

Sean had painted the bedroom when Michael moved out. It was an off-white color, neutral enough for a guest room; it was also the only paint they had in the garage and Sean had been bored.

"We should repaint it," Betsy says, looking at the walls. "Give it some real color. A fresh coat of paint can do wonders to a place and I feel like this room needs it. Any suggestions?"

Emma thinks for a moment. “Green?”

Betsy hums her agreement. “I can see it. We can get some paint tomorrow. You know what else we should get? Those glow-in-the-dark stars that you stick in the ceiling.”

Emma huffs a laugh. "Those are cool."

“I know.” Betsy presses another kiss to Emma’s forehead and then starts listing all the things they should get at the hardware store.

She’s guessing Emma’s things are in her truck, but those can be left to be unpacked tomorrow. There’s also a lot of things they should talk about. Serious thing. But even those can wait for now too.

* * *

Emma only breaks down on the third day, once they have finished repainting the walls of her bedroom and put everything else in place. Betsy likes the shade of green Emma chose, it feels fresh and comforting. More than anything though, she likes the small smile on Emma’s face as she walks around the room, surveying their hard work.

Betsy leaves only for a few minutes to go downstairs and get them both some cold lemonade and a snack for Emma. When she comes back, Emma is still standing on the same spot where Betsy had left her, in the middle of the room, but now she’s staring unfocused out of the window, crying silently.

It’s heartbreaking, but as much as the sight of Emma looking so broken and small makes her want to cry too, Betsy forces herself to be strong because that's what Emma needs from her right now.

“It’s okay,” Betsy whispers on Emma’s hair, wrapping her in a hug. “It’s going to be okay,” she repeats, pressing a kiss to the side of Emma’s head and hoping against hope that she’s telling the truth.

* * *

There are only a few times in life that Betsy remembers ever feeling this powerless. Helpless.

One day they wake up, have breakfast and suddenly the whole town knows about Emma and what her parents have done. _And _their reasons for doing so.

It's not at all surprising or unexpected the way they act after that.

Mr. Paine, who sells the cheese he produces at his farm at the Farmer’s Market, quickly shoos his teenaged daughter away when Betsy and Emma stop by. Betsy notices it, though thankfully Emma is too distracted by something else to realize what just happened. Betsy glares at the man until he embarrassedly averts his eyes and starts fussing with some plates.

It wouldn't be as bad if suddenly everyone in town wasn't acting more or less the same. They whisper, stare, look at Emma sideways and more than once Betsy has to stop herself from snapping at them, but only because it would just draw more attention to them and she knows that’s the last thing Emma wants.

By the time Emma’s junior year begins in September, Betsy is both incredibly proud of her and more than a little fearful. Despite everything going on, Emma is still holding her head high; only Betsy knows the toll it is taking on her, how Emma has changed, how she doesn’t smile as much anymore.

The first week is fine. Not fine _fine, _but it isn't completely bad either, or so Emma says. There are the name-calling and the lewd comments by the boys on the football team and this is probably not even all of it; Betsy knows Emma isn’t telling her everything but never the less she’s hanging on.

It’s on the Thursday of the second week that it really gets bad. Emma comes home with a black eye and a split lip. Betsy is oddly calm as she stares at her granddaughter’s face. Only on the outside though.

“What happened?” Betsy asks on that no-nonsense tone; she’s already walking to the kitchen to grab some ice.

Emma doesn’t look at her when Betsy comes back, shrugging once and abandoning her backpack near the front door. “Is not as bad as it looks.”

Betsy nods stiffly. She presses Emma’s hand to hold the icepack to her face, taking a step away. Last time Betsy remembers being this angry was just a couple of months ago, actually. It was also the last time she had talked with her son when she thought she still could talk some sense into him.

She thinks she's angrier now and her first instinct is to march into Mr. Hawkins' office and demand he does something about it. Emma stops her before she can open the door.

"I'm fine, Gran," Emma says, steady and strong, holding on Betsy's arm.

All the fight she has on her leaves suddenly and Betsy slumps against the door, pulling Emma into a hug that is just a bit too tight but comforting nonetheless. "This isn't fine, Emma."

“Someone told Mr. Hawkins about the fight. A boy was suspended.”

“Good to know at least someone else in this town still has an ounce of decency.”

Emma chuckles weekly, looking up at Betsy once before burying her face on her grandma’s neck, just like she used to do when she was little.

“I’m sorry, Gran.”

Betsy heaves a sigh, tightening her hold on Emma for a second before letting go. "It's not your fault, sweetheart. There's something wrong with the people in this place." She raises an eyebrow, pushing Emma away just a bit so she can look at her. "Now, do you know how to throw a punch?"

“…No?” Emma looks confused. “Do you?”

Betsy hums noncommittally, straightening her back and rolling her shoulders. “No granddaughter of mine is going to walk around like a punchbag. Someone wants to fight you, they gonna get as good as they get.”

Emma chuckles before she catches the fierce look on Betsy's eyes. "What?"

“C’mon, I think we’ll have more space in the garage. I’ll teach you.”

“You’re going to teach me how to punch people? How do you even know how –”

Betsy waves a hand dismissively. “Who do you think taught your Grandfather?”

* * *

Emma is different one day when she comes home from school one afternoon in October. Good different.

There’s a glint in her eyes that Betsy hasn’t seen in a while, a spring in her step that makes Betsy immediately curious.

“How was your day? Anything interesting?” Betsy asks as casually as she can manage.

Emma raises an eyebrow. “Why do think anything interesting happened?"

“Call it Grandma intuition.”

“Right,” Emma says skeptical but she can’t hold it for long before her face lightens up. “Someone blew up peanut brittle in chemistry today. It was awesome.”

Betsy chuckles, passing Emma an apple that she immediately starts munching on.

“Poor kid. How do you even blow up peanut brittle?”

Emma shrugs. “Dunno. But –”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full, dear,” Betsy chides, shaking her head with a smile.

“I don’t know,” Emma says after she swallows. “But it was amazing! There were peanuts _everywhere. _And then Alyssa –” She freezes as soon as she says the name, clamping her mouth shut and looking anywhere but at Betsy.

Betsy smirks to herself. That explains it then.

“Alyssa, huh?”

Emma blushes. “Yeah, um, she sits across the class from me. It wasn’t her fault though; her partner is useless.”

Betsy hums, nodding along. “Aren’t you at the top of the class? You could always offer to help this Alyssa study.”

Suddenly, Emma gets that faraway look in her eyes again, the one she gets from time to time, her whole demeanor changing. “I don’t think so.”

“Emma…”

But she’s already walking away, muttering something about homework.

/

It’s a week or so later when Betsy notices something different again. Emma is quiet all throughout dinner, pushing the food around her plate without actually eating any of it. Betsy is mildly offended. Instead of saying anything, she sips her water and watches Emma, deciding that she’ll wait for Emma to say something first.

It takes a few more minutes.

“Gran?” Emma asks, hesitantly, staring at the piece of chicken on her fork.

“Yes, honey?”

“Um, do you think it would be okay if a friend came over tomorrow? To study.”

Betsy's whole face lightens up before she can stop herself. She hadn't heard Emma talk about a friend since Kaylee Klein stopped by one day a week or so after Emma moved in with her. She remembers overhearing Emma on the phone with her a few times after that, though the calls stopped when news about why exactly Emma's parents had kicked her out spread through the town.

“A friend? Yes, of course, Emma.” Betsy tries not to sound too excited. “Do I know them?”

It's not hard to explain why hearing Emma talk about a friend makes her so happy. Betsy likes the idea of Emma having friends again; perhaps then she wouldn't spend all her time locked away in her bedroom with those damn headphones on. And maybe she would smile a little more too, like she used to before. Betsy misses Emma’s smiles.

“It’s, um, it’s Alyssa. Greene.” Emma still doesn’t look at Betsy when she speaks again. “We talked a few times after class and today she was telling me how she thinks she won’t do well in a test we have next week and I offered to help her study.” Emma doesn’t seem aware that she’s rambling as she keeps talking about how Alyssa has cheer practice and all the clubs she’s in and how she barely has any time to keep up with all their homework.

"Wow, that's a lot," Betsy says when Emma stops talking, she has the sudden urge to hug this girl.

“Yeah, but she’s so cool, Gran,” Emma says and Betsy pretends she hasn’t noticed the pink on her cheeks. It’s kind of adorable.

“I like her already.” She throws a wink at Emma for good measure. “What time is she coming over tomorrow? Ask her if she wants to stay for dinner.”

Emma shrugs. “I’ll wait until she’s done with practice to give her a ride here.”

“Is she allergic to anything? I was thinking about baking some cookies tomorrow. Maybe some muffins too, if I’m feeling particularly inspired.”

“Gran…”

“It’s alright. I’ll bake a few different options so she can choose.”

“I know what you’re doing.” Emma sighs and rolls her eyes but there’s a hint of a smile there.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Betsy really tries to sound innocent, but she’s sure the mischief in her grin probably gives her away. “But fine, don’t worry, I won’t keep bothering the two of you in your room tomorrow.”

“My- my room? My bedroom?” Emma stammers, her eyes wide. “I thought we could just work here at the table, I didn’t…”

Betsy hums, standing up and collecting their plates because the look on Emma’s eyes is making her really want to laugh but she doesn’t think Emma would appreciate that.

She pretends like she doesn’t notice Emma tidying up her bedroom later that night. She even uses the Vacuum cleaner. Now that she thinks about it, Betsy wonders if she can convince Emma to use it on the rest of the house too.

* * *

There’s something to be said about the way Emma and Alyssa laugh together when they’re supposed to be studying.

The first time Betsy hears them she’s on the top of the stairs, a plate with some snacks on her hand but the sound makes her stop on her tracks before she gets to Emma’s bedroom. It’s the first time she has heard Emma laugh like that, a proper belly laugh, since she has moved in.

If Betsy didn’t already like Alyssa before, she’s sure this would be the moment that girl wins her heart because anyone capable of making her granddaughter laugh like that is someone that she has no choice but to love.

A couple of weeks later, she comes home from the grocery store to find Emma sitting down on the living room floor with her guitar and a weird look on her face.

That’s another thing that completely takes Betsy by surprise because Emma hadn’t so much as touched her guitar since the day they took it out of her truck. The sight of it makes Betsy’s heart ache and her eyes sting with tears she refuses to shed.

The scene that suddenly starts playing on her mind without permission is almost the same.

Sean sits cross-legged on the floor next to an overly enthusiastic eight-year-old Emma. His old guitar looks bigger than she is, but Emma doesn’t let it faze her and she valiantly keeps on trying to place her fingers on the chords just like her grandfather had shown her.

She inevitably gets it wrong but Sean keeps on smiling proudly at her. When Emma gets tired, he gently picks the guitar from her hands and starts to play something and Emma sings along with her big smile that is missing a couple of teeth.

It's impossible to not see how much the two of them are alike. Michael himself never got into music even if he used to love it when his dad sang to him when he was a kid.

There are some days when Betsy misses Sean so much that it physically hurts, although Emma somehow always manages to make the pain ease a little. She's much like Sean in that sense, compassionate and caring and Betsy loves the little parts of him that she gets to see on Emma, like the way she talks sometimes or how she sings with her whole heart, exactly like he had always done.

She is taken away from her reverie when she hears the soft melody being carefully plucked from the guitar. Betsy knows it from somewhere, though she can’t quite place it until Emma begins to sing. The lyrics and the way Emma sing them makes her heart squeeze painfully as she understands what Emma is blatantly trying to say with it.

“Haven’t heard you sing in a while,” Betsy says, bending down to press a kiss to the top of Emma’s head. “I’ve forgotten how talented you are.”

Emma chews a bit on her bottom lip. “Did you like it?”

"I loved it," Betsy tells Emma sincerely though she's not expecting her answer to make Emma frown.

“But I messed up a few chords and I definitely got some of the lyrics wrong too.”

The smile on Betsy's face doesn't waver, however, it does soften a little. “Honey, I’m so proud of you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re you. That’s why.”

Emma looks down at her guitar. “I was thinking about playing it at the thanksgiving assembly in a couple of weeks.”

Betsy tries to mask her surprise.

“I have no doubt you’ll be amazing, sweetheart.”

/

Slowly, Betsy realizes, more of the old Emma starts to show up again. The Emma that is confident in herself, that talks about the bands she likes and TV shows Betsy has no hope of ever understanding. A carefree Emma – although still a bit more guarded now – that smiles more.

And that’s how Betsy knows they’ll be okay.

Alyssa becomes a somewhat regular guest and it is not uncommon for Emma to come home a bit later than usual every other day with Alyssa in tow because she was waiting for her cheer practice to be over.

Betsy wonders how much chemistry one really needs to study.

She judges, by the smile on Emma's face when she comes home the day of the thanksgiving assembly, that it wasn’t a disaster. When Betsy asks, the only answer she gets is a rushed _Alyssa said I was awesome! _before Emma’s phone chimes in on her hand, her smile widens as she’s dashing away to her room.

It’s funny, Betsy thinks when she remembers those days, how it all played out right in front of her eyes. Emma’s blush when Alyssa pressed a kiss on her cheek at the door one day before she left; Emma’s smiles whenever Alyssa was around.

Betsy would be worried if she also didn’t see the way Alyssa would look at Emma when she thought Emma wouldn’t notice.

/

Emma stops right in front of the TV one cold Sunday a few days before Christmas and effectively blocks Betsy’s view of the creatures of the sea documentary she’s watching. There’s a mug of hot chocolate for each of them on her hands and so Betsy has no choice but to forgive her.

“Can I talk with you for a second?” She asks sitting down next to Betsy on the couch, though she’s looking anywhere but at her grandmother.

It's funny how Betsy immediately panics for a second before she relaxes because she's at least a hundred percent sure she already knows what Emma is about to say. It takes Emma a moment to get started and say the words and Betsy patiently waits, trying to not let Emma see her amusement.

“Well, now that’s good news,” Betsy says when Emma closes her mouth, blushing from her neck to the tip of her ears. “God knows I was tired of the two of you making eyes at the other.”

“_Gran.”_

Betsy chuckles. “I’m happy for the two of you,” she says in earnest then narrows her eyes. “No more _studying _with closed doors from now on, though.”

Emma groans, slumping on the couch cushions, still smiling. “I wouldn’t have told you if I knew you’d do that.”

“I know.” Betsy grins. “I’m glad you did.”

“I really like her, Gran.”

“I know you do.”

Betsy welcomes Emma’s warmth when she rests her head on Betsy’s shoulder to finish watching the documentary together. She falls asleep before the end and Betsy smiles. She decides the sex talk can wait another day.

* * *

Everything is good for a while. Not perfect, but good.

Some days Emma will come home from school, head down and a lost look and Betsy will immediately know that something happened. Sometimes Emma will tell her, sometimes she won't. But most days Emma is happy and what else could Betsy possibly want?

Thing is, she should’ve known it wouldn’t last forever.

One day Emma is over the moon because Alyssa has asked her to the prom and then a few days later the PTA goes absolutely crazy when they find out and Betsy just knows the bullying Emma already suffers get a lot worse because of it.

The first time Betsy talks with Michael in almost two years he shows up on her door’s step unannounced right when she’s leaving the house. Her heart drums a weird beat inside her chest as she takes in on the sight of her son. Sure, she has seen him in passing every once in a while; it's a small town after all and it's hard _not _to run into people some days.

He has lost some weight, it's one of the first things she notices. His hair is so short now too, almost completely shaved and Betsy remembers how he used to like it a bit longer, but the curve of his jaw is the same as Sean's, the same as Emma's. His nose too.

To Betsy, Michael looks achingly familiar, yet, he might as well be a complete stranger now. It's hard not to get her hopes up as they look at each other because for the briefest of moments Betsy thinks this is what she's been praying for, for her so to finally be himself again and not the bigoted monster he somehow became. Deep down she knows the _timing _of this visit can’t just be a coincidence.

“Michael,” Betsy says, reserved.

“Where is she?” Michael asks coldly, barely acknowledging her and Betsy knows this is not going in the direction she hoped it would.

“What are you doing here?” Betsy thinks her voice finally betrays all of her exhaustion.

“I want to talk to my daughter.”

“Unless you’re here to apologize to her, I don’t th-”

“Apologize?” Michael shouts indignantly and Betsy takes a startled step back. “You want me to apologize? That girl has made me the laughing stock of the whole town and you want me to apologize to her? Do you know the kind of jokes they made at work? Do you-”

“Enough!” Betsy doesn’t yell but she didn’t need to, the way she says it is enough to make him clamp his mouth shut. “Emma didn’t do anything wrong. And I’m sick and tired of the way everyone in this town has been acting. You want to know what's wrong? You're her father! She has looked up at you her whole life and this is what you've done with the trust she has put in you. What the hell is wrong with you?" Betsy's chest is heaving when she finishes talking, her eyes boring into Michael as he looks back at her with wide eyes that look a bit scared. Good.

“I…” Michael trails off, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times before he manages to regain his footing. “We told her before, she was welcome back home any time, she just had to leave those ideas behind. But look at the circus she’s created!” He scoffs. “You and dad have always spoiled her too much, and even now you’re still making excuses for her. That’s why the way she is, you know.”

He stares at her, arrogant like he has just won, and Betsy can think of a few things to say to knock that look form his face, but before she can do something the sound of a car door slamming shut draws their attention to the driveway.o

“Dad?” Emma asks, her voice trembling slightly. She’s rooted to her spot in front of her truck watching them both with wide eyes and Betsy has the sudden urge to wrap Emma up in her arms and shield her from the whole world because she can see, underneath her trepidation, the hope shining in Emma’s eyes.

It takes less than a split second before Michael is stalking in Emma’s direction with fire in his eyes and Betsy doesn’t think before she’s running after him, instinct taking over as she puts herself protectively in front of Emma. She’s facing Michael as she pushes him away but she can’t do anything about the words he is yelling at Emma.

Betsy can’t see it, but she knows the way Emma’s heart is being broken all over again before she manages to push Michael away and get Emma inside.

/

“I’m sorry.” Is all Betsy can think of saying, and once again she’s hit with that helpless feeling because once again, she doesn’t know how to fix it.

“For a second I really thought he was here because… I’m so stupid, Gran.”

“No, you’re not,” Betsy says softly. “I hoped for it too”

“Is it weird that I kind of miss him?” Emma asks quietly. “And mom too. I miss how they used to be.”

“Not at all. I miss them too.”

They stay quiet for a while, Betsy holding onto Emma because sometimes there aren't enough words to make it better.

* * *

When one Barry Glickman knocks on her door one afternoon, Betsy is more than a little skeptic. She had listened the other day as Emma told her what had happened and how those people from New York were here to help. She had tried not to show how doubtful she was while Emma talked, but now, staring at the man on her doorstep precariously balancing a box and some garment bags she can clearly see through him.

The last thing Emma needs right now is another adult letting her down, but Barry is helping and so she allows him inside even if she's wary of his intentions

She watches Emma walk down the stairs a couple of days later, contact lenses on and a pretty blue dress. Betsy won’t deny that Emma looks gorgeous; she just doesn’t look a lot like Emma.

If there’s something Betsy wishes she could forget is the haunted, heartbroken look on Emma’s eyes when she gets home the day of the prom much earlier than she was supposed to. This time, Emma tells Betsy what happened right away in between gut-wrenching sobs as Betsy clutches her to her chest and tries to make sense of what Emma’s saying.

She tries to be reassuring, but she doesn't tell Emma it's going to be okay time because she really doesn't know how she'd be able to keep that promise.

Emma washes all of the make-up away before changing into some more comfortable clothes and cuddling on Betsy’s side on the bed. They’re quiet for a long while as Betsy runs a hand through Emma’s hair and tries to find the right words to make it better.

“I could always punch that woman on the face,” Betsy jokingly suggests, she doesn’t need to name who she’s talking about. It gets her a small smile from Emma; Betsy counts that as a win.

“I think she would find a way to throw you in jail if you did that.”

Betsy scoffs. “I was in jail once, I’m not scared.”

Emma rolls on her side to look at Betsy, squinting a little without her glasses. “…Do I even want to know?”

“It was the eighties, so it was fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Emma chuckles weekly and they descend into silence once again. Betsy leaves Emma only when she hears the bell ringing; she's weirdly grateful when she opens the door to find this weird troupe of characters led by Barry.

The days that follow are a whirlwind of emotions that is hard to make sense of until the Broadway actors manage to do what Betsy didn’t think they could. Emma and Alyssa come back from school in a hurry, laughing together and with Barry following them to Emma’s bedroom as they try to quickly update Betsy on what happened.

She makes sure to take as many pictures as she can of Emma and Alyssa together when they walk down the stair together and ready to go out. Their matching smiles are almost blinding and Betsy feels so proud that her heart feels like it has swollen twice its size.

* * *

There are some moments in Betsy's life that she doesn't think she could ever forget. In fact, she could tell you in perfect detail how she stopped mid-sentence when she finally spotted Emma and Alyssa and their beaming smiles as they navigated through a crowd of their peers, hands linked until they reached the row of folding chairs where Betsy and Veronica Greene were sat, side by side with equal looks of pride.

All the names had already been called and everyone had received their diplomas and Alyssa’s speech had been so beautiful and touching and had made them all tear up a little bit.

There’s that day too, a couple of months later in a crowded airport when Emma clutched Betsy tightly in her arms as she said goodbye. Her lips trembling and eyes shining with tears she wasn’t going to let spill when she promised she would call when her plane landed and every night too.

Betsy remembers, that same year, a week before Christmas, when Emma walked through the front door of their home and hugged Betsy just as tightly as the day she had left before she went off talking a mile a minute about college and her classes and her new friends and asking Betsy everything she could think to.

And then a day later, when Alyssa knocked on the door and Emma tripped on her feet as she ran to pull it open and bring her girlfriend in a kiss that made Betsy quickly find an excuse to leave the room.

So yeah, there's a lot of things Betsy couldn't forget even if she tried to. The day she walked her granddaughter down the aisle in the direction of the love of her life. She could tell you the exact color of Emma's tie and how it matched the flowers in Alyssa's hair. Emma had looked so handsome then, on her perfectly ironed tux and her perfectly combed hair and her beaming smile threatening to split her face in two.

There are no words to describe the warmth that spread through Betsy’s chest – though if she closes her eyes, she can easily recall the feeling – as she watched Alyssa, beautiful, gorgeous Alyssa, on her white dress smiling when she clutched her now_-wife _hand on hers.

Betsy will always remember another day, three years after that, when she stood in yet another hospital room holding a baby in her arms. Perfect teeny-tiny Olivia Nolan-Greene, with her mop of curly dark hair and her nose that looked exactly like her mother’s.

As she paced from one side of the room to another, Olivia peacefully sleeping in her arms, Betsy remembers her amusement as she caught out of the corner of her eyes the way Emma couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from her daughter.

“She won't disappear if you look away, you know," Betsy whispers as if to not wake Olivia but she's sure Emma heard her. She won't look up to confirm it, though, because she can’t stop watching Olivia adorably pout on her sleep. 

Emma shrugs one shoulder, shifting a little on the chair she had put next to the hospital bed where Alyssa is currently taking a nap, pouting in her sleep just like Olivia was. She had been sleeping for a while now, but she deserved the rest after all.

The smile on Emma’s voice is audible when she answers. “She’s perfect, isn’t she Gran? I can’t believe we made her.” There's so much devotion and sheer wonderment on her voice as if she really can't wrap her head around the fact that this is hers and Alyssa’s daughter.

Betsy finally looks up then, silently watching Emma grasp one of Alyssa’s hand on her own like Betsy knew she had wanted to for a while but was scared that doing so would wake up Alyssa.

Veronica Greene's shoes make almost no noise when she walks into the room, a smile immediately forming on her face as she takes in the scene. She stops briefly to press a kiss down on the top of Emma’s head and affectionally push some strays hairs from Alyssa’s forehead before she’s making a beeline to where Betsy is standing with Olivia and they both can coo over the baby.

Alyssa wakes up just a little while later, lazily opening her eyes and immediately searching for her daughter before looking up at Emma with a wide grin. Veronica, who at some point had taken Olivia from Betsy, gently passes the baby to Alyssa’s arms, wincing when she wakes up and cries louder than a person her size should be able to.

Betsy smiles then, at the way Emma’s eyes shine with so much adoration as she looks over at her wife and their daughter in her arms and Betsy knows this is definitely one of those moments she wouldn’t be able to forget even in a million years.

**Author's Note:**

> This was mostly written on the middle of the night so I apologize for any mistakes.  
Thank you so much for reading it and I hope you guys enjoyed it.


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